


After Midnight

by iNiGmA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Canon Compliant, Dark, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Lemon, Love, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romance, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iNiGmA/pseuds/iNiGmA
Summary: The war is over. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have been entombed in Azkaban, and their only redeeming grace is the freedom of their son.  As he returns to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year, Draco is consumed with his parents' trial and freedom.  But he cannot save them alone. Will he find the help he needs in the arms of an unlikely friend?  It wasn't so long ago, that he called her 'Mudblood.'





	1. Draco

**Author's Note:**

> This is a three-chapter short, originally written in a milder format for the Platform 9 ¾ short story contest. The theme was Christmas and New Year. This is my first attempt at a Dramione, and I had quite a bit too much fun with it, and with writing from Draco's POV. Thank you so much for reading it, and please do drop a note if you can!
> 
> Rina
> 
> Note, this is rated for chapter 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter belongs to our queen, JK Rowling!

_**** _

**After Midnight**

_Chapter 1:_ _Draco_

.

It was late.

Snow was piling heavily outside the library window as it enshrouded the castle in white. Very soon, it might be altogether possible that Hogwarts would be entirely hidden – not just magically rendered unfindable and unplottable, but wholly sheathed in snow. And when that moment came, he wondered, would the castle, finally, be as isolated and as bloody cold as he felt? It would be only fitting, after all.

He sighed. It had been a long, hard day. Just like every day before it.

He turned his gaze back to the book he had been perusing, but it was useless. He would get nowhere. The candles had burned so low he could barely see at any rate. He slammed the book shut and made his way slowly out of the library.

_You resent it._

The voice, which had been at the back of his mind all day, burst forth in an uncontrollable surge of frustration. He sighed again. There was no use denying it after all. He _did_ resent it. His family broken. Mother and Father both locked up in Azkaban, atoning for the crime of serving Voldemort. They had left his side in the last moment, in the Battle of Hogwarts – Mother had even helped Potter, had lied about him being alive to Voldemort himself – but even so, Kingsley and the Ministry had not been forgiving. Potter had even spoken in Mother's defense at her trial. But even so… _Even so._

He bit his lip angrily. They had let him off, at least. They had allowed him to return to Hogwarts to redo his N.E.W.T. year… and every day he wondered if it had been a mistake. The Slytherins, who had not chosen to abandon Voldemort, scorned him. The Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, who did not believe he could change, avoided him. He didn't blame them. Goyle and Pansy were gone. Crabbe… _he couldn't think about Crabbe_. But fools as they all had been, he had needed them. Without them, he found himself utterly adrift.

He walked along dark corridors to the Slytherin common room, thinking back to the events of that morning. He must have blocked it out, he realized. He must have forced it into some distant corner of his memory, because he could recall only flashes.

He remembered the dark room, though. Distinctly. Dingy and derelict, with a pervasive smell of cigar smoke – as if the Aurors could find no use for their time other than to smoke it away. At least there were no Dementors. _Not anymore._

Mother had sat across the table from him, her hair lank and unkempt, her eyes hooded. Her hands, which had been chained together roughly, were clasped atop the stained and cracked table, as if she were a schoolgirl sitting at attention. It nearly broke him to see her so defeated. Even without the Dementors walking the halls of Azkaban, the holding spells that kept the prisoners isolated and trapped in their cells were enough to drive anyone mad.

"You'll be out soon, Mother," he had said softly. "I've been pushing the paperwork for your appeal through to the Ministry. I've even pleaded your case to Gawain Robards personally, and he assured me they're looking into it. Robards does not think that you belong in Azkaban…"

She didn't react, and he allowed himself to trail off into silence, his gray eyes fixed upon her face. _She looked so thin. Was she eating?_

"Draco," she said at last. Her voice was hoarse – as if she had forgotten entirely how to use it. "The Ministry will not let us out. Neither me nor your father."

"Don't say that. You can't think like that, Mother. They're bound to act soon. I expect everything's just delayed, with the holidays. But come January –"

"You don't understand."

He fell silent, watching her. She smiled slightly.

"You're still so young," she whispered. "They'll make an example of us, Draco. It doesn't matter that we chose to walk away. No matter what Robards has promised you, the appeal will lead nowhere."

"That's not –"

"Stop," she said, more forcefully. She had looked up then, her blue eyes boring into his gray ones. "Stop it, Draco. We will leave here when we've served our time. Not sooner. Go. Live your life. You have that, at least."

He cast his eyes down, tracing a crack along the chipped surface of the table.

"Mother…"

He reached forward, taking her thin, cold hand into his own. His fingers trailed over the cuffs on her wrists.

"No touching, Malfoy."

He drew his hand back sharply and glared at the Auror who stood at the edge of the room, eyeing him suspiciously. Mother moved her hands back and placed them in her lap. The chains clanked. He felt sick. This caricature of a life that had become their new normal... _did they deserve it?_

A gong sounded loudly, reverberating through the small room. He could hear it echoing through the distant halls beyond.

"Visiting hours are over," the Auror said. "Wrap it up."

Draco thought he could detect a note of contempt in his tone. It was a tone he had adopted often in the past. He knew it well. He looked back at Mother.

"It's all right," she said. She stood up, her chains clanging again. Two more Aurors entered the room from a door directly behind her and stood silently, waiting. "Happy Christmas, Draco."

"Happy Christmas, Mother," he said quietly.

He stood, watching as the Aurors marched her out of the room. She didn't look back.

"Get going, Malfoy."

He glanced over at the Auror, who now stood impatiently by the visitor door. Silently, Draco made his way past him and out of the room.

He was seething as he walked down the long dingy corridor, his thoughts whirling furiously. Mother had all but given up. And Father… he hadn't been allowed to see Father since the trial. The Ministry during Voldemort's reign had been a joke. But this post-war Ministry… how was it any better? His parents had walked away from Voldemort, after all. Mother had risked her _life_ to save Potter. And now his parents had been thrown into Azkaban, all but forgotten. The Malfoy name disgraced.

_Change takes time, Malfoy. I expect it'll be years yet..._

The cold wind slapped his face as he stepped outside the fortress, snapping him out of his reveries. Her voice broke apart, carried away by the gale, which pelted him with errant drops of water and numbed his face almost instantly. He stepped onto the dismal boat along with the scant few others who had braved the freezing cold and miserable voyage to visit Azkaban on Christmas morning.

The mood on the boat was rather glum. He pulled his cloak tightly around himself as they began to move away from the island which housed the prison. The wind grew stronger. It was too much to hope, apparently, for the boat to be spelled with a Heating Charm – or, at the very least, to include some kind of indoor shelter. Visitors of prisoners did not warrant such small comforts, it seemed. He turned away from the others, gazing back at Azkaban as it faded into the distance, his thoughts running away once more.

She wanted to be the change. Well, how bloody long would that take? He was hardly going to sit around and wait until the Ministry became the benevolent, transparent, and accepting government that it was currently pretending to be. He was going to have to figure out how to get Mother, at least, out on his own.

He found himself before the familiar blank stretch of wall before he was aware of it.

"Severus," he said distinctly.

The wall melted to reveal a hole, and he stepped through it and found himself in the Slytherin common room. As expected, it was empty. There were no other Slytherins at Hogwarts for the holidays. He wasn't even sure why he had come back, but it was somehow more bearable to be alone in a nearly empty castle than to be alone in an entirely empty house.


	2. Plus Hermione

_Chapter 2:_ _Plus Hermione_

.

He saw her the next afternoon as he was making his way across the empty Entrance Hall. It would actually be more accurate to say that he say her hair, or at least that he saw her hair first, and then the rest of her. He had been walking in a daze, his mind lost in thoughts of the appeal, when her cloud of bushy hair flitted across his vision. He paused, glancing back. She stood by the grand front door, her cloak almost entirely coated in snow. She had taken off her hat and was shaking the snow out of it with a slightly annoyed expression, which made him smirk slightly. He made his way deliberately toward her, his spirits rising.

"Granger. Whatever are you doing here?"

"Malfoy," she said, glancing up. Her expression was altogether disgruntled. She continued dusting snow off her cloak. "Lovely to see you, too."

He stopped before her. "You're back early, Granger."

She rolled her eyes. "Apologies. I didn't know you had reserved the entire castle."

He was taken aback by her annoyed tone. But only slightly. "I'm just surprised. I wasn't expecting to see you until the start of next term."

"Yes, well," she said briskly, "lots of N.E.W.T.s to study for. I thought I'd take advantage of the library and the quiet while everyone is away."

She brushed away the last of the snow, picked up her bag, and started walking across the Entrance Hall. He fell into step beside her. "I'll walk you," he said. "Here, let me help with that."

He reached for her bag, but she pulled it away.

"That's not necessary."

He shrugged. "If you insist."

"I do."

She walked on in silence, and he trailed along beside her, glancing at the bushy-haired witch as she stalked up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, her face set in a frown. His thoughts drifted away from the appeal for the first time in days, and he was consumed instead with a burning desire to find out what had made Granger so angry. Granger, who planned to change the entire Ministry single-handed. Granger, whose ridiculous hair nearly drove him mad.

He would have never imagined that he and Hermione Granger, the girl he had called a Mudblood so many times he lost count, would ever be on speaking terms… so it was even more of a surprise to him that they had somehow formed a precarious friendship, even if it was held together largely by snarky remarks.

It had started back in September, when McGonagall had declared them Honorary Head Boy and Girl, which he thought were ridiculous titles. There was already a Head Boy and a Head Girl, after all, in the actual seventh year class. He supposed the headmistress had simply been unable to allow Granger back into the school without rewarding her with everything at her disposal. And as for his own position, he suspected it was awarded to him out of pity. _Poor Draco… both parents locked up. Trying to turn his life around._ The thought alone made him scowl angrily.

But nevertheless, he had taken up the mantle. He was hardly in a position to turn down anything positive that came his way, and _Honorary Head Boy_ certainly looked good when he was trying to appeal Mother's and Father's convictions. So he and Granger had spent the last four months supervising prefects, assisting the teachers with grading and lessons, and overseeing the continued restoration of the castle. The duties were numerous, and between performing them and focusing on their studies, they barely had time to spare to daydream. But what they _did have_ was hours to spend in each other's company, and even two people as different as the two of them could hardly spend it without learning to tolerate and eventually even somewhat like each other.

And like her he did. More than he dared to admit.

He was not sure, in fact, when it had happened. Perhaps it had been gradual. Perhaps it had started that night in early October, when they had sat for hours in the empty Potions classroom, grading essays for Professor Slughorn, and the conversation had turned personal. _Too personal._ He had told her, in a surprising display of emotion, about Mother's trial. About the unjustness of it all. About how the Ministry, which had promised to be better – do better – had left his parents to rot in a cell in Azkaban, despite their actions at the end of the battle.

"They don't deserve to be there," she had said. "Not at all. Especially your mum."

"No," he agreed, shaking his head bitterly. "Without her, Potter might not have made it out of the forest."

"I know that Harry went to the trial to testify on her behalf. He was rather upset about how it all went down."

"I'm sure he was absolutely heartbroken."

"He was," she said. "Not as upset as you, of course, but he doesn't think it was very fair. He's mentioned it to Kingsley, even."

"And I appreciate that," Draco had admitted. "But it seems to me that the Ministry of today is just as quick to put on a show as ever. They took the Dementors out of Azkaban, but the place is just as foul. And they've thrown anyone with any Death Eater affiliations in it, without caring to review the evidence even when they _know_ it exists! Even the word of the Chosen One makes no difference. So tell me, Granger, _what's changed_?"

She had bit her lip, looking down at her work, and he felt a fleeting stab of satisfaction. She didn't have an answer for everything, Granger. She could defend the new Ministry all she wanted, but he would make sure she knew she was standing atop a mountain of empty promises.

But then she had glanced up at him and said, with conviction, "Change takes time, Malfoy. I expect it'll be years yet before the Ministry is entirely reformed, and things are truly done right. It won't happen overnight. There needs to be a new mentality. There needs to be new leadership. But it _is_ happening. Harry and Ron are working their way through the Auror Academy. Just wait. Before long, it will be different. And I'll be along too, I expect. Once I have my N.E.W.T.s."

It was an optimistic view, and one that seemed very far off. But he could see her brown eyes shining with the idea of it, and he found he could not take it away from her. She really _did_ mean to do good. _Bloody Granger._

"And how long do you expect that's going to take?" he said, keeping his voice even.

She smiled. "I expect I'll be Minister for Magic by the time I'm thirty-five."

"Right. I'm hardly leaving Mother in Azkaban for sixteen years."

"I wouldn't expect you to. But there's no reason to wait that long. I'll help you with the appeal in the meantime."

The whole exchange had somewhat wrecked him with guilt as he recalled how absolutely terrible he had been to her since she had stepped foot in Hogwarts. And yet here she was, offering to help him and his family. And help she did. She dedicated hours to his parents' cases over the next two months, often putting her own studies aside, and burying him with a near avalanche of useful facts, which he sorted through diligently as he tried to sort out his own feelings about her.

And they grew every day, his feelings. Every time she pushed her bushy hair out of her face, or bit her lip in concentration as she lost herself within the pages of a book, the sight of her filled him with an intense desire to simply grab her and kiss her, and he spent hours imagining how her lips would taste, locked upon his. He wanted more than anything to confess – to corner her in the library as they sat digging through law books, or in the classroom as they graded papers, and tell her how he felt. He often imagined the conversation:

" _Granger, I can't get out you of my head. You're ridiculously smart and attractive, and somehow I've bloody fallen in love with you."_

But somehow, he could never get past his confession to imagine her reaction. Perhaps he simply couldn't allow himself to imagine it because he had caused her nearly seven years of grief, and despite how the situation had changed – even with her helping him so wholeheartedly – he knew that there was no way she would ever return his feelings. And at any rate, she had Weasley. They were bloody in love.

"How was Christmas with the weasel?" he asked now as he strolled alongside her down a fifth floor corridor.

She shot him an annoyed look and didn't answer.

"Sorry, _Weasley_. How was Christmas with Weasley? Have a lovely time?"

"It was fine," she said shortly.

"Granger," he said, exasperated. "What's the matter?"

She drew to a halt, took a deep breath and expelled the air through her nose. "Sorry. It's nothing. How was your Christmas? Did McGonagall host lunch again?"

He hesitated. "I went to visit Mother."

"Oh!" she said softly. She turned around to look at him, her dark brown eyes fixed on his. He resisted the sudden urge to push her against the wall and kiss her. "In Azkaban? How is she?"

"She's… not great," he admitted, shifting his thoughts away from her ridiculously attractive eyes. Bloody hell, what was the matter with him? He was all over the place. "She doesn't have much hope for the appeal. She doesn't think it will be successful. She told me to live my life and forget about her. And Father."

"I'm so sorry, Draco," she said gently. "But she mustn't give up. We won't."

" _You_ won't?" His voice very nearly cracked. He cursed inwardly. What was he, some bloody first year schoolgirl?

"Of course not."

He exhaled heavily. "Thank you."

She nodded and then looked down. "It was lousy."

"What?" he said, slightly taken aback by the change of subject.

"Christmas," she clarified, sighing.

He waited. She spoke again, still looking anywhere but at him. "Ron and I have been on a break. Since Halloween."

"Ah," Draco said. His heart seemed to be beating faster than normal. He ignored it.

"We've been having some issues," she continued. "Long distance relationships are... hard. Ron's been so busy with Auror training, and I've had enough to be getting on with here between studying, and Head Girl duties, and…" She paused, biting her lip. "We were planning to talk about it all over Christmas. But, I don't… It's… I think we're done."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. _He wasn't._

She sighed again. "He's been spending a lot of time with Susan Bones during Auror training. I reckon he's got feelings for her.

"Ah," he said again. He really _was_ sorry this time. Sorry that the weasel had hurt Granger. How Weasley could have someone as wonderful as her in his life and cast her aside was beyond him. "I'm sorry, Granger. He's a stupid tosser."

"It's all right," she said slowly. "The truth is, I haven't felt that way about Ron for some time. The truth is, I…" She glanced up at him at last, her brown eyes meeting his gray ones again. To his surprise, they were not filled with tears, but with a determined resolve. "I like," she whispered, "someone else."

She kept her gaze on him, staring at his face intently. He felt as if his mind had gone entirely blank. The whole world seemed to have narrowed to include only the two of them, and the bare stretch of wall behind her. Nothing else existed. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears. So loudly, he was sure she would hear it. Over it, he heard, as if in slow motion, her sharp intake of breath. And then she took a deliberate step toward him. Her lips parted slightly.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had closed the distance between them and crushed his lips against hers. _They tasted like chocolate._

She kissed him back without hesitation. The bag she had been holding clattered to the floor as she threw her arms around him, and he raised his own hands, running them through her tangled hair, cupping her face, unable to believe that this was really, truly real. They lost themselves in each other's arms, aware only of their embrace, and he could feel her heart racing wildly as he held her against his chest.

When they drew apart, coming up for breath, it was as if the whole world around them had shifted. He felt surer, somehow. More content. Things were finally… _right_. He had misread her. She didn't find him despicable. _She wasn't just helping him out of pity._

"Granger…" he whispered.

"Malfoy," she said in response, and a smirk any Slytherin would have been proud of lit up her face.

"I've liked you for longer than I care to confess," he said truthfully. "I might have even liked you back when we were younger, but I didn't dare admit it."

"Oh?" she said, amused. "Well I definitely did not like _you_ back then. You were a right prat. I'm glad I punched you in the face that one time. You deserved it."

He grinned, his expression mirroring hers. "I _was_ a prat, and I _did_ deserve it. I hope you don't think I deserve it now."

"No," she whispered, leaning toward him again, "I would say you've definitely aged well."

For the first time since term ended, Draco truly appreciated just how empty the castle had gotten.

* * *

"So, not the best Christmas for either of us," Hermione said some half an hour later, as they sat by the fire in the empty Gryffindor common room. She extended her hands towards the flames, letting the warmth spread across her open palms.

"I think we've marginally improved it," Draco allowed. "Nice common room, by the way. It's very… well lit."

"Not being stuck under the lake does have its benefits," she agreed. "I don't know how you can stand it down there."

"It's rather cozy," Draco said, shrugging. "Very green. Lots of calming benefits. Aren't you familiar, Granger?"

She snorted. "I wouldn't have thought you'd put much stock in color therapy."

"Oh yes," Draco said seriously. "Snape gave us all the lecture on our first night. Red is so intense, you know. No wonder you Gryffindors are all so angry."

She laughed. "Angry with righteousness, Malfoy. Trust me, you want me all fired up. That's when I do my best work."

"I do," he admitted, though it was for other reasons. For the first time in days, his parents weren't the foremost thing on his mind.

Oblivious, she reached for her bag and started digging around inside it. "I stopped by Diagon Alley before Christmas and picked up a few books from the law section over at Flourish and Blotts. I think some of these will be really useful for the case."

She took out several large tomes and stacked them on the edge of her armchair. Draco sighed, his respite shattering. Hermione noticed his expression, and her mouth turned up in an understanding smile. She took the stack of books and lowered it carefully to the floor.

"Sometimes," she said, looking back up at him, "I find that if I'm stuck on a problem, it helps to step away for a bit, and focus on something else, so I can tackle it with a fresh mind when I'm more focused."

He sighed. "I can hardly forget it and enjoy myself when Mother and Father are locked up in Azkaban. Even in your company."

"You're burnt out on this," she said reasonably. "Honestly, I reckon you need a break. It's the holidays. Perhaps you should step away for a few days. You'll be much more productive if you do."

He watched her dark brown eyes as they glimmered in the firelight. He reasoned she was probably right. If memory served, she was _always_ right, in fact. It had used to fill him with resentment when she, a girl of no wizarding heritage, had beaten him in every exam year after year. But now that she sat before him, her considerable talents turned in his direction, he was incredibly grateful for her support. But still, even with her as a distraction, he didn't think he could cast his family aside so easily.

"Eh, what holidays?" he said lightly. "All I've been doing is working nonstop. And besides, Christmas was lousy, like you said. That's over and done with."

"Perhaps we should have a do-over," she ventured.

"A do-over? Have you got another Time-Turner?" He smirked. "Otherwise you'll have to wait till next year like everyone else. The world's full of people who've screwed up Christmas and want to re-do it, I'm afraid."

"No Time-Turner," she said slowly. "But you know, it doesn't have to be Christmas for it to be Christmas."

"Ah," Draco said, "you're one of those. Celebrate whenever you like, and it's Christmas, right? Nice try, Granger. But Christmas is done with, and having a gift exchange on a random Thursday won't fix it."

"All right, all right," she said, holding up her hands. "It doesn't have to be Christmas. How about this then… New Year!"

"What, you want to go to a rave in Hogsmeade?" he said, smirking. He couldn't imagine her at such an event, but if she was game, he certainly wouldn't mind. That would be the perfect distraction, in fact. "You want to Apparate to the Victoria Embankment and watch the fireworks with the Muggles? You want to get drunk on Firewhiskey and snog at midnight?"

"Ha!" she said. "Not quite." She absentmindedly took hold of his hand, intertwining her fingers through his. He pulled her toward him, kissing her again. Several minutes passed before she spoke, but she was too intent on her idea to let it drop.

"Actually, Malfoy, there are some cultures that have a sort of Christmas on New Year. In Russia, for example, they have a New Year Tree, and they exchange gifts at midnight. They even have their own Santa." She grinned, her eyes sparkling. "No need to wait a year, or go to a rave – hopefully you're not too disappointed. We can have Christmas on New Year. I'm sure the Russians won't mind if we share in their tradition."

"Huh," Draco allowed. He didn't much care for the idea, but her eyes were alight with the glow of excitement again, and since he had finally confessed his feelings not even an hour ago, he thought he should give her at least a week before she realized what a complete prat he was. "That sounds so ridiculous it just might work. All right, Granger, you're on. Christmas on New Year it is."


	3. In the End

_Chapter 3: In the End_

.

The following week passed in a somewhat dreamlike state. They spent most of it in each other's company, and Draco, who had allowed himself a temporary reprieve from the appeal, simply couldn't get enough of her. Hermione, for her part, was more willing to traipse around the castle at odd hours of the evening and allow him to kiss her in shadowy corners than he would have believed previously.

New Years Eve drew upon them abruptly, bringing within it several feet of snow and ice. The snow had piled so high during the night that it had buried half the front door, and Professor Flitwick had been forced to melt it by precariously hanging out of a second floor window before the door could be opened.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to go to a rave, Granger?" Draco said, watching Flitwick perform complicated movements with his wand from across the way. "Looks like Flitwick's nearly got the door open."

"We're doing Christmas on New Year, Malfoy," Hermione reminded him.

"We can exchange gifts tomorrow. We can open them in the morning, and pretend Santa brought them," he added, smirking.

"I'm not going to a rave, Malfoy."

Draco sighed. "If you insist, Granger."

"I don't suppose," she said saucily, "you're backing out because you haven't got me anything?"

"Dream on, Granger. I've got you something, and it's bloody excellent."

"Is that so? I can't wait to see it."

She smiled at him, causing his heart to speed up once more. It was hours yet until their planned activities that evening, but as he stepped deliberately into her personal space and heard her sharp intake of breath, he thought he had some ideas for how they could pass the intervening time. She didn't seem to have any objections.

* * *

The Room of Requirement glittered like Santa's bloody sleigh when Draco stepped inside it that evening. Perhaps Granger had thrown a Reverse Bedazzling Hex on the walls, he considered, as he stared around the shimmering room.

The first noteworthy item was the snow, which was drifting down gently from the ceiling. It did not seem to be cold or wet, however; in fact if he stretched out his hand to try and touch it, he could not feel anything at all. Some form of visual conjuring spell, then.

In the far corner of the room stood a gigantic evergreen tree, which stretched out to the ceiling, and was covered with immeasurable glittering balls and baubles and garlands, and was sparkling with multi-colored lights. A single present, beautifully wrapped, lay beneath it.

The walls of the room were festooned with additional glittering lights. There was a fireplace, in which a fire was dancing cheerfully, with several squashy armchairs and a couch spread out around it. A small circular table, set for two and groaning with the weight of various strange looking dishes, was standing in the right side of the room. Hermione stood beside it, clad in a silvery dress, smiling brightly as he drew near.

"Did you do all this, Granger?" Draco said, mildly impressed.

"I contributed, but I can hardly take credit for everything. We  _are_  in the Room of Requirement, after all."

"Of course," he said, stepping further into the room. The door closed behind him, sealing the two of them away. "Well, nice Christmas tree."

"It's a  _New Year Tree_ , Malfoy," she said, smirking.

"If you say so," he said, stepping up to it and dropping his own gift at its base. He glanced over at the table. "So, what are all these?"

She grinned again. "Traditional Russian holiday dishes. Olivier salad. Shuba herring salad. Beef jello–"

" _Beef jello?!_ What, in the name of Merlin, are you feeding me, Granger?"

She continued smirking and chose not to answer, as if inviting him to find out on his own. He stepped up to the table, sighed, and sat down. He hoped it all tasted better than it sounded.

Thank Merlin… it did.

The chiming of the grandfather clock startled them out of the conversation they had been happily ensconced in as they worked their way through the strange and delicious dishes – Draco had decided he rather liked the beef jello, though he was loath to admit it, as it just seemed like an utterly bizarre thing to be fond of.

"Nearly midnight!" Hermione said, lowering her wine glass back down onto the crisp white tablecloth and reaching for the bottle of champagne. "I can't wait to see your 'bloody excellent' present."

"I assure you, it's impossible to top," Draco said lazily as he slipped the bottle out of her hands and popped open the cork. It went flying off somewhere into the distant ceiling with a loud pop. "Don't feel too bad when whatever you got me doesn't measure up."

She smirked, holding out two champagne glasses for him to fill. "I'm going to need to do something about that ridiculously large head of yours."

The clock chimed midnight, the sound echoing through the room.

"Cheers," Draco said brightly, clinking his glass to hers.

"Happy New Year!"

They raised their glasses to their lips, looking at each other over the rims as they downed the fizzing golden beverage.

"Shall we snog, Granger?" Draco said, putting down his glass. "That's the New Year way, is it not?"

"I don't believe the Russians do it that way."

"Well," he said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to him so sharply she let out a gasp, "I don't see why we can't be a little multicultural."'

"I suppose," she said softly, gazing up at him. "After all,  _differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open_."

"Do not," Draco said, tracing a finger across her chin, "quote Dumbledore to me while we snog, Granger."

She let out a short laugh. "I won't."

"Good," he whispered, still holding her gaze. The golden brown layers of her eyes shimmered in the firelight, drawing him in. She had grown silent, and he could hear the steady rhythm of her heart and her sharp intake of breath, as he drew closer and pressed his lips against hers.

She kissed him back hungrily, her lips fighting for purchase against his, and the taste of her – chocolate, and champagne – overwhelmed him as he gripped her tightly in his arms, pressing her against him, his hands sliding down to her waist, feeling the shape of her.

She let a soft moan escape her lips as she drew up for air, turning her head slightly, and he trailed his lips across her jawline, making his way down her neck as she tilted her head back and pulled him closer, making his heart speed up considerably. The slightly flowery smell of her hair was driving him mad. He allowed his hands to trail up, across her flat stomach, until they reached the swell of her breasts. She let out a sharp gasp as he trailed them across her nipples, which stood out sharply against the fabric of her dress.

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice filled with longing, her name soft on his lips.

He glanced up at her, breathing heavily, catching her eyes again. Her lips were parted slightly, and her cheeks were flushed as she stared back at him.

"It seems… you want to do more than just snog," she managed, trailing one hand across his chest.

"Only if you want to…"

She seemed unable to speak, but she nodded softly, never breaking eye contact.

It was all the invitation he needed. He pushed his lips against hers once more, and she moaned louder against his mouth as he cupped her breasts again, swirling his thumbs over her nipples. She pressed herself against him, trailing her hands down along the length of his body, brushing her fingers lightly against the front of his trousers, exactly where he ached for her touch.

He pushed her backward, pressing her against the wall as he pulled the dress down off her shoulders, caressing her exposed breasts. She pressed harder against him, until he could feel the heat of her pressing against his own. Throbbing with desire, he wanted her right then, more than anything. He wanted to rip her clothes off and cast them aside, and fuck her right here, against this wall, and he nearly lost himself as he imagined how it would feel, if he slid inside the hot wetness of her… how her legs would feel, locked around him.

But it was their first time… their first time, damn it.

He forced himself to draw back, to gaze into her eyes as he grasped her hands.

"What's wrong?" she panted.

Without speaking, he pulled her along, to the couch before the fireplace and pushed her down onto it softly. She lay there, her hair spread out carelessly in a messy tangle, her eyes shining. Her silvery dress seemed to sparkle with a thousand lights.

She was so beautiful, he didn't have the words to do it justice.

Instead, he slipped his shirt over his head and let it fall softly to the floor. She reached out with one hand, drawing it across his bare chest as he dropped down to the couch above her, pressing his lips to hers once more as his hands slipped between them to caress her breasts.

She arched her back slightly, pressing against him, and slipped her hands inside his trousers, brushing them against him through the thin fabric of his boxers. He groaned against her mouth as she moved her hands faster, more forcefully, and slipped a hand beneath her dress, brushing his fingertips against the wetness of her knickers; feeling the heat of her, as she buckled beneath his touch, spreading her legs wider as he pushed her dress up with his other hand.

He could feel his own desire building, throbbing beneath her fingers as he traced his hands in circles against her heat, dipped his fingers into the wetness beneath, eliciting moan after moan from her – moans he had only imagined her making in his wildest dreams – that nearly sent him over the edge as she writhed beneath him.

"Draco," she moaned finally, "please. I can't wait anymore."

"So don't," he whispered into her lips, as he continued the motions. "Don't wait."'

"No," she gasped, squeezing her fingers around him and eliciting a groan of his own. "I want to… together."

A romantic to the end.  _Bloody Granger._ Well, if that was what she wanted…

He leaned away from her, her disappointed moan fading to nothing as he stepped out of his trousers and boxers, until he stood naked before her. She gazed at him from where she lay, her eyes raking across the length of him. She sat up in silence, still breathing heavily, and pulled her dress over her head, slipped off her knickers, until she sat before him in her all beauty, her body glowing in the soft light.

"You're beautiful, Hermione," he whispered, stepping closer to her.

They fell back onto the couch, arms around each other, and he slipped gently inside her as she let out a moan and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him further into her warmth. He fit within her perfectly.

As if he had been made for her.

They fell into a gentle rhythm; her arms wrapped around his back while his caressed her breasts once more as their tongues danced with each other. The sounds of her moaning nearly brought him to his climax, but he held back as she thrust against him with increased urgency, arching her back, until she let out a loud scream and shuddered against him. No longer able to hold back, he felt his own release take hold as her muscles contracted around him, and he moaned loudly as he rode out the climax.

Spent, he lay his head across her chest, their sweat mingling together in the sweet aftermath as their breathing slowly returned to normal. They lay in silence for several seconds as his hands played with hers. Finally, he rolled off her and pressed against her on the couch, draping an arm around her. She turned to him, nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder.

"So beautiful, Granger," he whispered again, staring into her glimmering eyes.

She smiled. "Granger again, am I?"

He grinned back at her. "We'll see."

* * *

It was not exactly midnight when they finally approached the New Year Tree, but it was not yet two in the morning, so as far as Draco was concerned, they really weren't that far off.

"Here it is, Granger," he said, taking his carefully wrapped present and offering it to her at last. "My bloody excellent gift. Enjoy. I do hope you'll still have time for me."

"I'm intrigued," she said seriously. "I mean, another present, on top of the one I just got? New Year might just be my new favorite holiday."

Draco stood back, watching as she carefully removed the wrapping paper. He really  _was_  pleased with his gift selection. It had taken him nearly all week to track it down, but it was, he knew, perfect for Granger. She would be shocked. She would pleased. She would want to return to snogging him immediately in gratitude.

"A notebook?" she said quizzically, unearthing the small, brown book at last. She did look somewhat shocked, or at least surprised, but she did  _not_  look altogether pleased. She flipped it open. "A  _blank_  notebook?"

She did not, any longer, appear to be in any mood for snogging whatsoever. Well, he would have to rectify that. Apparently, Granger had never seen a Biblio Omnis before.

"Ah, but it's not just  _any_  notebook," he said pleasantly. "Oh no, Granger, no, this little notebook can present to you any story. You can transfer the contents of thousands of books to its pages, and then you can peruse them all at your leisure, at any time. You can transfer the entire library to this book, in fact. Good, isn't it?"

Hermione looked at the book and then at Draco, who was wearing a satisfied smirk, as if altogether positive that she could not possibly top his present and should be altogether floored by it. She raised her eyebrows.

"So basically," she said, "you got me a kindle."

"What the bloody hell do you mean?"

She grinned at the affronted look on his face. "A kindle, Malfoy. A Muggle device that lets you load multiple books on it at once. It's an electronic gadget. Quite a nice one, too. I have three of them."

Draco stared at her, mouthing silently for several seconds, before finally coming up with, "Yeah, well, this one doesn't need batteries."

Her grin grew wider. "How on earth do you know what batteries are?"

"I'm not a  _complete_  recluse," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

"Right, well, thank you, it's very sweet!" she said, smiling. "Thoughtful, too. Now, open mine!"

She picked up her present, which was slightly larger than his had been, and shoved it in his hands, watching with barely contained enthusiasm as he ripped off the wrapping paper.

Once unwrapped, he stared at it just as quizzically as she had done, tilting his head slightly.

"Is this… what the Muggles call a  _skateboard_ , Granger?"

She smirked. "Yes, Malfoy, it is."

"And what, pray tell, do you expect me to do with this?"

"Well," she said, still smirking, "I thought perhaps we could ride it. Together, if you like."

"Do you even know how to ride a skateboard, Granger?"

"I do not," she admitted.

"Well, neither do I," he said. He had no qualms admitting it, now that she had made the first concession. "So, tell me why the bloody hell you thought this might be a good gift, considering neither of us knows how to ride it, and there's about three feet of snow outside?"

"Oh, I imagine we'll figure something out," she said brightly.

And they did, indeed, figure something out. The skateboard was not altogether necessary, but they looked back on it fondly, years later.

Hermione's magic kindle  _did_  get a fair bit more use – a fact that rather pleased Draco and his overlarge head – but both gifts were remembered warmly. Christmas would soon become a time for family, when Narcissa joined them the following year, and for every year after that.

But New Year stayed theirs, and theirs alone.


End file.
